


Only An Easy Game

by vamm_goda



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Philadelphia Flyers, accidentally dating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-14
Updated: 2011-04-14
Packaged: 2017-10-24 17:36:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/266093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vamm_goda/pseuds/vamm_goda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny Briere is very bad at dating, but he is apparently very good at Claude.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only An Easy Game

The only time love is an easy game

Is when two other people are playing

-Paul Simon, "Oh, Marion"

\\\

It’s pretty close to two in the morning and Claude’s really considering bed. The TV has even given up on attempting entertainment and he’s been watching an infomercial about blenders. It actually has a plot, though, and he sorta wants to find out if the woman gets all her things done in time for the big event for her kids. She sorta reminds him of Danny when he gets all harried, though he has never seen Danny wax rhapsodic about a blender before.

The commercial ends right at 2:30, and he’s flicking off the TV and standing, stretching, when the front door clicks open and Danny slinks in. He pauses, mid stretch, and smirks. Just a little.

“Late night?”

He knows he’ll deny it later, but Danny totally jumps a few inches, eyes getting wide like saucers. He doesn’t look guilty, not that guilty is a look Claude could pick out on his face in low light from a distance away, but he’s holding his posture still and tight like maybe he is. It’s ridiculous—the divorce has been final since approximately forever ago.

“What are you doing up?” he asks uncomfortably, turning away to hang up his coat. Claude relaxes his posture while his back is turned, shrugging.

“I guess I got all emotionally invested in this infomercial.”

Danny turns back with one eyebrow raised almost to his hairline and Claude flushes because yeah, ridiculous. “It’s just like. It had a plot and . . . Better stop while I’m ahead. How was the date?”

Danny goes through a full body *flinch*. Definitely a flinch this time. “Not good?”

“No!” Danny looks like he feels as though he has to defend his date’s honor or something. “It was. It was nice. It was a date.” He sounds weirdly hesitant, loosening his tie, and when he makes eye contact he looks young in a way Claude’s not used to seeing. “Okay, can I tell the truth here?”

Intriguing. He goes and sits back down in the horrible armchair that was the only piece of his furniture Danny let him move into this room. “Yeah, of course.”

“It’s just I know if I told anyone else they’d never stop chirping me, and it really does get under my skin just a little.” Danny’s itching at his neck, and Claude knows that means that he’s dreading whatever he has to say, but he’s going to say it because he’s the responsible adult. It’s like the speech about ‘sleepovers’ all over again.

“Yeah, no. I get that.” Only how he doesn’t, like at all. He really hopes he’s not about to find out that Danny has ED or something painful like that, because he won’t be able to resist trolling him about it, and then he might not have a house.

The older man sighs, takes a deep breath as his shoulders slump. “It’s just. Sylvie is the only person I’ve ever seriously dated.”

\\\

They end up sitting in the dining room almost until dawn, coffee in front of them while Danny just talks. Claude wants to offer to paint his nails or something while he does, but the other man obviously needs to vent and so he holds his tongue and just listens. It’s not like he needs to say anything, just make the coffee and grunt encouragingly when he feels appropriate.

Because apparently Danny is the sort of guy who marries the first person he has sex with—“really sleeps with, y’know? Not screwing around but for real”—and now he’s learning to navigate what exactly that all _means_ as an adult with three kids to boot. Danny apparently is really, really bad at casual but really good at over-complicating things.

And he keeps _looking_ at Claude, like he wants answers to be painted across his forehead or something, like his eyes are teleprompters that are suddenly gonna give him answers that Claude doesn’t have. He’s a little out of his depth here—Danny was always the advice giver, not him.

They end up sitting there and watching the sun come up, and before long Zora’s crying at them to go out, and Zoey wants food and so Claude gets up to begin their morning routine while Danny goes upstairs to shower and change. Then the boys get back from Sylvie’s and it’s a tornado of overnight bags and making breakfast and they don’t have time to be tired even though they both know better than to stay up all night like that.

Claude gets the coffee started again in between being tackled by an overexcited Cam and listening to Carson and Caelan trying to tell him the same story in slightly different tones of voice. Sylvie is standing by and watching them, a slight smile quirking her face, when Danny walks in barefoot and wet haired.

“Sylvie,” he murmurs with a polite head nod, reaching out and pulling her into a loose hug that she can easily get out of if she wants to.

“Danny,” she offers, her voice noticeably warmer than it was even a few months ago. “I have the boys’ things in the living room, is that all right?”

“Of course,” he agrees, letting her go and allowing himself to be swarmed by a horde of overexcited offspring. Claude takes his seat at the table with his and Danny’s cups of coffee in front of him, already made to both of their preferences. When Danny breaks free he hands him his cup. Danny takes it from him, mouth pressing to the top of his head as he collapses into the chair next to him, long fingers curling around the mug. “Thanks. You’re the best.”

Claude shrugs, “it’s nothing,” falling modestly off his tongue.

\\\

The thing is that Danny is 33 freaking years old, and he had his first child when he was about twelve, it seems like to Claude, and so on top of being really bad at dating he is also ridiculously over protective. Which, okay. _Claude_ is over protective of the boys, to the point of declaring war on Semin when the other man chirped them at a game, so he can get where Danny’s coming from in a way.

Of course he’s gonna take a long time introducing anyone to them, of course he’s gonna want to make sure it’s something that has a potential of going somewhere. But he also refuses to go out on nights that the boys are with them, and between away games and how often they have the boys when they’re home that means he gets maybe one night every few months to go out. And then he almost always makes some excuse and ends up playing Mario Kart with Claude until bedtime. So he’s been on like, two dates the whole year Claude has lived with him, and he’s pretty sure they’re not even with the same lady, unless she is the most patient creature in the _universe_. Maybe it is the same lady. Maybe Danny is secretly worth waiting _that long_ on.

“They were nice,” Danny admits, one hand in his coat pocket and the other holding Zoey’s leash. Claude’s got Zora, because neither one of them will listen to him, but at least Zora’s too small to turn into the road block that Zoey does. “I mean, they were really hot. And seemed sweet. Natalie, she didn’t even really know much about me as a player, and that’s sorta nice, you know?”

Claude pauses in waving to Mrs. Riordan and her kids playing in the lawn to nod sincerely. “Yeah, it really is.”

“She seemed to care about me as just Danny, just Mr. Briere, but. I don’t know, I just didn’t feel like I was ready to bring her home. And now she’s going out with someone else I hear, so.” He shrugs, less defeat and more acceptance. “Onwards and upwards.”

“You are not allowed to make hockey puns about dating,” Claude tells him, pausing and digging a poop bag out of his jacket when Zoey starts to squat. He hands it to Danny, who kneels and scoops it up in an easy gesture.

“Sorry,” Danny mumbles, sounding anything but.

It’s okay, though. More than anything, really, it’s sorta funny in a pathetic way.

Besides, he's not the one Danny should apologize to for his lousy sex life.

\\\

Danny’s been nervous approximately once in the time Claude has known him, and really it shouldn’t be so funny except how it really, really is. But it’s also a little bit pathetic, and that’s _all_ that’s keeping him from laughing about it.

“How do I look?” he asks, straightening his tie for the sixteenth time and then Claude can’t help but laugh like, a lot.

“No one wears a tie on a date anymore,” he says sagely, leaning back in his computer chair, and Danny winces at him.

“As though you’d know?”

“I’ve actually been on a date this century, though,” he observes thoughtfully.

The word feels weird inside his mouth, like cotton balls. Because this is Danny and basically Danny doesn’t date. But the boys are at Sylvie’s and Chris’s wife knows this lady and apparently Danny is incapable of saying no to a very determined woman who knows a lady.

Then again, _Pronger_ is incapable of saying no to his wife, and that’s saying something.

“Maybe like a nice shirt and some jeans? And your leather coat or something?” Claude offers after a few seconds during which Danny stands there and looks at him like he’s an android that’s lost his programming or something. Like _Sidney_ , and isn’t that enough to have him laughing again.

Danny nods slowly, and he’s already stripping out of his tie, tugging the thin end out of the knot and pulling it out of his collar. Claude goes back to solitaire, and when Danny comes back in he nods slowly. “Yeah, see. That’s what normal people wear on dates.”

He looks so uncomfortable it’s absurd, but at least he doesn’t look like he’s about to go into the press box for a particularly terrifying interview. The jeans are maybe a little too loose in the ass for Claude’s taste, but then again Claude’s not the one going on the date.

Still, Danny plays hockey. There’s a nice ass under there somewhere. “Different jeans, but otherwise it’s good.”

“Different jeans?” Danny asks with an irritated eyeroll, stalking back to his room. “What are you, my fashion consultant?”

“You owe me for a year’s worth of service if I was.” He follows him back to his room, watches him change into a pair that he likes a lot more. “There. Now knock her out, Tiger.”

Danny throws a pillow at him and he laughs and swats him on the ass on his way out.

\\\

When Claude gets up the next morning it’s Danny’s turn to make coffee. He’s fully prepared to make it on his own, though, because Danny wasn’t home by the time he went to bed, and that means only one thing. And it’s not that Claude was waiting up for him, either. Because he wasn’t.

His cup is fixed up on the counter, and Danny is making eggs and humming off tune when Claude pads in, pushing his curls off his forehead.

“You score?” His voice sounds more like a grunt than actual intelligent conversation but whatever. He’s dying inside until the coffee kicks in, and he doesn’t have to pretend different in front of the kids today.

Danny looks at him over his shoulder and that piece of hair falls across his face. The piece that only falls across his face when he hasn’t showered and his hair is a little greasy.

“You _did_ score,” he mumbles, too tired to worry about the inflection in his voice.

“We had a very nice time,” Danny offers, and when he doesn’t say any more Claude sits heavily, because coffee this early always makes his stomach get a little queasy. He should know better.

“And if this gets out to the team I will _kill_ you,” he continues, turning to point his spatula at Claude threateningly. He looks so much like his mom that he starts laughing and almost misses the last part. “But we did _not_ hook up.”

Claude stills, looks up at him and then snags Danny’s phone off the counter. Password is easy to bypass even when Danny’s trying to snatch it out of his hands and basically pinning him to the wall as he does. He figured out his passwords months ago.

“You are telling me you didn’t hook up with _that_?” he asks, turning the screen and Pronger’s text up to Danny’s face. “What is _wrong_ with you? I would hook up with that and I don’t even _like_ brunettes!”

“Get out of my phone!” he demands, sounding a little petulant, and Claude tosses it back to him. Easy come, easy go.

“I’m just _saying_.”

Danny’s glaring at him while he deletes the text, and then shoves the phone in his pocket. “She was too _flighty_ to bring home to you guys, and I _don’t_ do casual.”

Of course. Of course Danny doesn’t do casual because he married like literally the only girl he’d ever had sex with and Claude is an idiot.

“Sorry,” he says after a few seconds. Danny sighs, another one of his long suffering sounds, and leans back against the counter.

“You only know that because I know that you’d never use it against me.”

“Because you trust me?”

“Because I know where you sleep.” Danny’s smile is wide enough to show canine and Claude shudders in spite of himself.

\\\

“CLAUDE?”

He leans back in his chair, sighing because the porn was just getting to the good part. Whatever, the boys aren’t home it’s like the only time he has to indulge. “WHAT?”

“Have you seen my keys?” Danny’s standing at the bottom of the stairs in what is apparently now his default date outfit. “I still can’t find them.”

“Check the bowl on the table. The one that you always throw them in.” He turns back to the computer because really, he’s not Danny’s metal detector.

“They’re not _there_ ,” he calls back, like Claude should know that already, like Claude is murdering their puppy by _not_ knowing.

He pushes out of the chair, the mood utterly ruined. “Then check your right front pocket!” he calls, stalking down the stairs in a huff.

Danny’s standing at the door groping around in his pocket. After a second he manages to dig his keys out and he gives Claude a smile that is so wide open and purely joyful that he momentarily feels like a dick for being upset that he was interrupted.

“You’re flushed.”

He will probably never be over Danny Briere non sequiturs, quite honestly. “What?”

“You’re.” Danny’s looking at him with a weirdly intense expression, one he feels like he’s seen but he can’t put words to _where_ he’s seen it exactly.

They stand there and look at each other for a few seconds that Claude doesn’t fully understand but then he snorts and shakes his head. “Seriously, old man. You remember to take your Viagra?”

They spend so much time beating the crap out of each other that Danny’s completely late and also shows up with a bruise coloring the lower curve of his eye. Claude goes back upstairs and finishes the video, then jerks off in the shower thinking about that one brunette girl’s cheekbones for some reason.

\\\

He’s not waiting up for Danny. Unfortunately he also doesn’t have even a lame infomercial to hide behind. He doesn’t have anything to hide behind except the couch cushion he’s got his feet buried under and his own native curiosity.

He really wasn’t expecting the brunette, Maria he thinks, to come in the door first, face flushed with a laugh. Danny’s right behind her, holding the door and tossing his keys into the bowl by the door like he should do every time if he doesn’t want to keep losing them. “Hi, Claude. Still up?”

Claude really wishes he had gone to bed earlier. “Uh, hi. Um. I’m not gonna . . . I think I’m going to bed now.”

“This is Marta,” Danny offers cheerfully, and she’s offering Claude her hand. She’s really hot. She’s also dressed really nicely, bright blue dress and black stilettos and he’s in boxers and a torn Flyers t-shirt. They look like a ‘one of these things is not like the other’ photo.

It’s not like he’s supposed to be the one impressing her. Obviously Danny has already done that because she’s here. But he feels like he should be representing for the home team or something. It’s embarrassing.

“Hi,” he offers, shuffling, and seriously he hasn’t gotten this weird in front of a girl since _junior high_. He smoothes his hair before shaking her hand, then remembers his hand might be kinda gross and tries to not feel like a total creep. “I’m Claude. I love here.”

Danny pauses in hanging up her jacket, looking at him over his shoulder like he’s lost his mind and oh, right. He can totally speak English. Sometimes he can even manage to speak it _correctly_. “I live here.”

“Nice to meet you.” She sounds like she might be Spanish, just a little lilt, and Claude is so unforgivably awkward because Danny was about to _finally_ get laid and then he had to be a creep who stayed up to wait for him.

“Want something to drink still?” Danny asks, bright and cheerful like Claude hasn’t fucked up his chances of getting laid just by being here. Marta doesn’t look like the sort of girl who is okay with group performances.

“Yes, please,” she says, standing loose and easy and she looks so comfortable and Claude is so obviously not.

“I’m. Uh. I was just heading to bed,” he offers with one hand gesturing up the stairs, then almost bites off his tongue because he really should not be trolling Danny’s _girlfriend_.

“Claude, you want anything?” Danny calls from the kitchen and he and Marta share a remarkably similar expression of confusion.

Which is how he ends up being even creepier, drinking cocoa with Danny and Danny’s date and talking about hockey (she’s not a huge fan, but she follows them) and soccer (neither of them are fans but she’s very enthusiastic about Barça) and other small talk until her cab gets there. She kisses Danny on the cheek when he helps her into her coat and Claude sits there feeling like the worst housemate on the _planet_.

“Why so glum?” Danny asks him with what certainly looks to be a sincere smile on his face. Claude thinks maybe he doesn’t know Danny’s expressions as well as he thought because there is no way he’s looking pleased at him right now.

“I just ruined your chance at getting laid and you’re asking _me_ what’s wrong?”

Danny honest to god blushes, a light pink along his cheekbones, and Claude watches it spread. “We weren’t. The bars were closing but we were still talking.”

“ _Sex_ ,” Claude presses because really, it’s unfair if he’s the only one who had an orgasm tonight. “I could call her and apologize. And pay for a room.”

The pink is spreading down his neck just a little bit. “No, it’s. We weren’t.” He shrugs a little, posture awkward. “She’s not really the type I was going for.”

“Right, I forgot. _Blondes_.”

“Yeah.”

Danny’s looking at him really funny. _Why_ is Danny looking at him really funny? “Danny, why are you looking at me really funny?”

A jolt goes through him like he’s been tasered and he looks away. The pink is sorta a red now. “Sorry, I just. Blondes.”

Claude blinks at him a few times. “You’re off,” he decides, then heads to bed because really, he can’t deal with Danny being off this late at night.

\\\

The next morning has him waking up to Zora snoring at his feet, Cam tapping lightly at his door because he will never be over the fact that Claude is living with him and he gets to visit with him _every day_ , even weekends when Claude is wanting to sleep really, really bad.

Practice isn’t even enough to shake the cloud off of him, and Pronger is harping on him more than usual for things that he isn’t even doing _wrong_ and he can see that Danny sorta wants to throw down his gloves a couple times because he can read it in his posture, in the way he moves and his shoulders shift and he just looks _different_ to Claude. It might be a little bit worrying that he knows Danny that well, even from a distance.

It’s not a whole lot better in the changing room, because out of nowhere Pronger growls “Lauren is _pissed_ at me,” and Danny has the nerve to shrug at him and it looks like it might be a fight for long enough that Claude’s on his feet, trainers only half laced.

“How is that different than any other day?” Danny asks mildly, a little smile quirking his lips up and he says it flawlessly, like some sort of old time actor, like Gerard Depardieu, if Claude didn’t hate his smug face so bad.

Prongs sputters for a few seconds, then backs down a little because really, he’s not the asshole everyone expects him to be.

Well. Not _all_ the time, he isn’t.

“I guess I’ll tell her she should know better than to set her friends up with a married guy, right?”

Claude tenses up so tight his back spasms painfully because Sylvie’s been out of the picture for so long Danny doesn’t even have the tan line on his finger any more. It’s unusually douchey even for Pronger. But Danny . . . Danny just laughs and throws a sock at Pronger, and suddenly everyone in the locker room is looking at him, at _Claude_ and oh.

 _Oh_.

That’s embarrassing.

“Ready to go?”

Danny’s standing over him, and there’s still the edge of a bruise curving along his cheekbone under his eye and Claude gave that to him last night with a stray elbow and now he can’t stop noticing it like all of a sudden. Danny’s not giving him a look, nothing beyond expectation slowly bordering into curiosity, but he’s sorta having a hard time breathing right now.

“Claude?”

He can’t help but realize how much he sorta loves hearing Danny say his name, because he says it _right_. He says it like a real French Canadian. Not like the reporters who try to impress him by over pronouncing and turning it into ‘Clooode’, or like the drunk girls who stumble over it and make it sound like ‘Clod’. He says it like _home_.

“Yeah,” he says, after a second. He grins wide then, because he wants to return the favor, and Danny’s name is tripping off his tongue easy like rainbows. “Lead on, Monsieur Brière.”

Danny makes a weird face, and Carts whistles, and Claude just grins until Danny grins back and hip checks him into his locker hard enough he’s gonna have a bruise down his side tomorrow.

Claude grins, throwing an arm over Danny’s shoulder as he steers him out the door. “Age before beauty.”

“You’re not _that_ pretty.”

Catcalls follow them out into the tunnel but Claude just shakes his head because he loves how Danny says his name.

The boys swarm them once they’re home, begging for food and time and attention and Danny calls for takeout while Claude scolds Carson for his latest spelling grade before he signs off on it, showing that a parent had been given the paper to review. And then Danny’s loading the dishwasher while he does his best to help Cam with his math homework. He’s starting to feel like a really bad father, because Cam’s basically the only one he can reliably help with math any more, and he’s almost wondering if he needs to take some night classes or something so he can remember upper level math enough to not be _completely_ useless.

\\\

They’re already running late and there’s this _one little thing_ preventing Claude from making it out the door and he’s going _crazy_.

“Dammit,” he mumbles, on hands and knees and digging around under his bed.

“Claude!” Danny’s voice is raised, but more to be heard than in annoyance. Claude knew that wouldn’t last. “We’re going to be late, and we don’t want to hold up the table.”

“I can’t find my left shoe!” he yells back down the stairs, unable to keep a petulant tone out of his voice. He winces because _Jesus_ he sounds so young it’s ridiculous. “I think Zora stole it!”

He can hear Danny stalking around all the way from the bottom of the stairs. “Zora doesn’t steal shoes,” he reminds him with a long suffering sigh. “Have you checked under the bed?”

“I just _did_!”

Danny’s in the doorway, then on his knees and nudging Claude out of the way with his shoulder. “Move. You never look deep enough.” He fishes under the bed, shoving practice pads and discarded magazines out of the way while Claude sits back on his heels with a huff, arms crossed over his chest.

Danny’s half under the bed when he finally yells in a muffled voice, wriggling out with Claude’s other dress shoe in his hand. “Here. Now get it on, we’re officially late.”

“Whatever,” Claude mumbles, sitting on the bed and pulling it on while Danny braces himself to get back to his feet. And for some reason Claude doesn’t really get Danny braces his hand on Claude’s thigh instead of some place logical, like the edge of the mattress.

Danny’s hand looks really pale against the dark denim of his jeans, and he thinks maybe he’s imagining it but then his hand doesn’t move, doesn’t move as fast as it could or should, so he just leans forward, lips pressing to Danny’s.

It’s not like he planned it, not really, so it’s not as good as it possibly could be but that’s okay because it’s Danny and that makes any sort of planning moot anyway. He wasn’t planning on becoming domestic, raising his kids, but all that’s already happened so he might as well just fall in love, too.

And, okay. In retrospect that’ll probably prove to be the stupidest moment in the _world_ to decide to just go ahead and fall in love with Danny Briere, but apparently that little thing he’s been carrying in his chest since Danny came home with Marta and then sent her away so he could spend the evening with Claude has gotten so big he can’t even _breathe_ around it any more.

Danny’s hands are up and for a second he’s not sure if he’s gonna get pushed away or what, but he’s pretty sure he’s not gonna get punched, and then Danny’s rubbing little circles into his thigh and gasping against his lips and it’s _perfect_.

Danny’s gasping “ _Mon dieu_ ,” into his lips, and he fucking _loves_ when Danny speaks French, so he keeps nipping at his mouth until Danny opens to him and he can taste him all the way down to his toes and it’s everything. Everything he imagined, everything he wants, everything he apparently already has. Just _everything_.

So of course Danny has to pull away, fingers threading into the curls on the side of his head and palm cupping his cheek. His fingers break through the gel Claude has put in his hair to try and keep it under control. “Claude, we. We can’t.”

Claude can feel his face just _crash_ , because he is an idiot. An idiot kid who can’t control his freaking impulses, even if Danny _was_ kissing back. Because they’re teammates, they’re best friends, hell they’re apparently freaking _married_ , but they’re not this.

“Because we have dinner reservations and we’re already late.”

Claude’s face goes through its fourth radical transformation in the last ten minutes, and at this rate he’s gonna need Botox by the time he’s 24. This isn’t happening. If the universe were fair Danny would decide that reservations aren’t nearly as important as getting naked as fast as possible, but this is Danny and he loves him for being _Danny_.

The older man leans forward and kisses him, hand still pressed warm and possessive on his cheek. It’s light and chaste but impossible to mistake for anything except a promise and Claude sighs against his mouth and kisses him back. He _had_ to fall for a grouchy old man with _priorities_ , what the fuck.

\\\

Dinner looks no different than it always has, it’s not like they’re suddenly gonna start holding hands or playing footsie, but Claude does find himself watching Danny more, catches Danny watching him, and he can feel a slow burn inside his belly each time he does. Danny’s eyes are dark; they don’t give very much away unless you know him. Claude knows him very well and so they’re telling him everything. All the things he wants to do to him, for him, with him, so he chews a little bit more thoroughly than he usually does because if Danny’s horny it’s all his own fault. If it was up to him they’d be having all the sex right now, but Danny had to go and be _responsible_.

Besides, he sorta likes the way the older man’s eyes keep getting darker and darker. He gets the feeling it means good things for him.

Danny almost never lets him drive when they’re going places, because in addition to being a grouchy old man Danny dislikes not being in control of all things ever, so when he slips the keys out of his pocket and hands them to Claude he hesitates just a little before taking them.

Long fingers close around his wrist, encircling him entirely, trapping his arm between them when Danny pulls him against his chest, leaning up just that touch to catch his lip between his teeth, kissing him quick and a little sloppy.

The parking lot is empty, there are no security cameras, no reporters or even video phones. He checked, and he also knows Danny checked, so he lets himself enjoy the edge of desperation there while Danny holds him against his body, his knee slipping between his thighs. It’s gonna make the drive home uncomfortable but he ruts against his leg just a little. It feels too good to _not_ be touching Danny, and he makes a truly embarrassing sound when he forces himself away.

There’s a lot of time missing from his short term memory, and it’s probably a good thing that there’s not a lot of other cars on the road so he can avoid a repeat of summer.

The car’s in the garage because he parked it there, and the lights are on in the house like they always are but he’s also straddling Danny, thighs on either side of his hips as he leans over him and licks his way into his mouth, rubbing against him with little needy sounds.

He’s not sure when he hauls Danny onto the bed, how he pins him underneath himself, he only knows that he _wants_ , and he skims his teeth along the high curve of his cheekbone and bites that stupid bruise a little bit deeper, and Danny’s eyes are black and wide and perfect when he groans from somewhere deep inside his chest.

He feels a tug on his scalp, and Danny’s carding his fingers through his curls, and he realizes that Danny’s always had a thing for blondes, gingers apparently as well, but Claude’s never had a thing for brunettes, so he must just have a thing for Danny, for how his skin feels under his palms when he shoves that stupid black ‘entourage’ shirt up his body so he can slick his hands over trembling muscles.

He laughs against Danny’s collarbone when he realizes, because they went out to dinner together, had the plans previous to this and Danny’s wearing his freaking date _uniform_ , and somehow it’s taken Claude this long to notice.

“Claude,” Danny breathes, and he stops laughing, pulls away enough to get the damn shirt the rest of the way off so he can slide his fingers across his body. “Stop, please.”

Danny’s muscles are shuddering under his fingers, jumping in response to his touches, but he stops moving when Danny asks him to because Danny always has a good reason for everything he’s ever asked Claude for.

“We can’t like this,” he says, then swallows hard and his arms jerk because they _can_ and it’d be so easy. “The boys. We have to . . .”

He doesn’t say any more, but Claude knows he’s saying the same thing he said to Sasha. You do anything to make them sad and I will _fuck your shit up_.

Well, not exactly the same thing. Danny trusts him for one.

“I’m already here,” he says softly, then laughs. “We’re already married, Danny. We might as well let ourselves have the good parts as much as the hard parts, since I’m already completely fucking in love with you.”

It’s probably the stupidest explanation he could come up with, because Danny has every reason in the world to be trigger shy about that word, ‘married’, but then he’s back to tangling his curls around his fingers and his eyes are black like burning. His mouth is open under Claude’s without needing to be asked, and he’s sucking on his tongue like it’s something else and Claude is so over this foreplay thing because they’ve been circling this for months apparently.

He never thought he’d like giving head, but he loves the way Danny smells, the way his jeans skim his hips as he strips them off, the sound Danny makes when he bites into the blade of his hipbone. He loves all of that, and he loves the way Danny’s face completely wrecks when he takes him into his mouth, and he wants to see it forever, like watching their playoff goals on repeat only a million times better. He loves Danny’s nails scratching at his scalp and he even loves how heavy he is on his tongue, the way smells seem like more because he’s got nothing but his nose and arousal to take in everything that’s happening. His thumbs rub circles in the hollows of his hips and then Danny’s grunting, a sound that could almost be his name, could almost be a curse, and he pulls off and finishes him with his hand, watching Danny’s face like it’s the most amazing thing he’s ever seen because basically it is.

And then Danny’s between his legs and Claude has his ankle hooked around Danny’s knees and he looks up his body at him while he bites the inside of his thigh and no, _that’s_ the best thing he can ever imagine seeing in his whole life. When he comes he can’t look away from Danny’s lips, stretched tight around him, and he can’t stop pleading, cursing, fucking _praying_ as Danny swallows him down and Claude knows he will never, _never_ get tired of that, not even if they do this for _ever_.

Danny curls himself around him, and Claude tugs gently at his hair, just feeling it in his hands. It’s finer than his own, almost slick, and he wonders how he never noticed that as he opens his mouth and kisses him messily.

He wonders how he never noticed a lot of things, then decides it doesn’t matter because Danny’s laying on him right now, his fingers still locked around his hips tight enough to bruise, and he can taste himself on Danny's tongue like he's always belonged there.

\\\

Their routine doesn’t change at all, not really. Danny still wakes up early and makes the coffee and takes the boys to school, except on days where it’s Claude’s turn. They still walk the dogs together before practice and Claude still carries their poop bags in his pocket for Danny. They still argue about who lost whose shoe and whose turn it is to pay for the take out. They still load the dishwasher and work out together, only now Claude realizes how married they really are, and it’s _weird_ how everyone saw it so much earlier than he did. He’s beginning to think _Danny_ was even starting to realize it, and Danny’s the only one who has an excuse to not notice because he’s done it before.

Claude lets himself hide behind the routine a little bit, lets himself use it to make himself feel safer once he realizes that really all they have left to do is adopt a baby and name him Cai Briere-Giroux. He has to hide from that a little bit because really?

He’s pretty much okay with that idea.

“So does this mean we’re dating?” Claude asks one night while they’re working damage control in the kitchen while the boys play video games and smack talk each other in the living room.

“What do you think?” Danny looks amused, leaning himself against the counter while he lets Zoey clean up the last of the spaghetti sauce off the stove front. And that’s really unfair, because Claude always gets in trouble when he does that.

He pauses to consider it, glancing to make sure the boys aren’t wandering in looking for a soda, then leans over and kisses Danny, sucks on his tongue just a little because it’s fun to tease him sometimes, see how far he can push before Danny gets annoyed.

“Nah,” he decides as he pulls back, enjoying that vaguely glassy look in Danny’s eyes, watching as realization dawns and suspicion creeps into the periphery. He kisses him again, just a little peck because he can hear footsteps approaching. “You always sucked at dating, but you seem to be doing okay with this.”

Danny snaps him with a towel right as Carson walks in, and he rolls his eyes at both of them because they are both old and lame. It’s so precious Claude has to kiss his head, and then it turns into a fight with the brothers ganging up against him while Danny laughs until he cries.

Danny still doesn’t go out much and neither does Claude and that’s okay because those nights once every few months are _theirs_ now, even though both of them refuse to call them dates.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for[this prompt ](http://hockeyanonmeme.livejournal.com/460.html?thread=896460)at hockeykink anon meme. Beta by[](http://lobsterclaaaws.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://lobsterclaaaws.livejournal.com/) **lobsterclaaaws** , who is fortunately used to me being ridiculous.


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